Our Family
by draggon-flye
Summary: Abby thinks about her NCIS family in the elevator during Bloodbath. Note: This chapter is gen, but later parts will contain discipline spankings of adults.
1. Enough

I drew my feet up to curl up tighter into the corner of the elevator and made a tight fist with my right hand, pressing the metal band on the brass knuckles the director loaned me deep into my palm. Everyone thinks I'm hiding in here because I'm scared. That's partially true. That is why I chose the elevator. It's the safest place in the building. Only five deaths a year occur in elevators, you know. The odds of some psycho stalker finding me in here and killing me are astronomical. Besides, he'd hafta get through Gibbs and the team first, and there's like less than zero chance of that happening.

But being scared is only part of the reason I'm hiding in here. The stalker isn't the only one I'm hiding from. Yeah, I know it's a shock. After all, I've pretty much terrorized every custodian and agent in the building at one time or another. Except one.

You guessed it. I'm hiding from Gibbs. I'm not scared of him, not like this crazy stalker. Gibbs would never hurt me. He won't even headslap me. He's always super careful to be very gentle with me. The second b may stand for bastard—after all, he can be every inch of that—but he's also very much a gentleman. So why am I hiding? Well, he's um…he's…he's… Sigh. He's disappointed in me, and I just can't stand it.

Why didn't I tell him about Mikel? Truthfully, it really was just what I said. I only wanted him gone, not beaten within an inch of his life, or worse yet, dead. Make no mistake about it. Gibbs would have hurt him—badly. He's very protective of his family. And trust me, this team is family.

Yeah, yeah, I know a lot of places say it, but we really are, right down to having our own unique family roles. Tony's the cool older brother. Ziva's the tough, independent, older sister. McGee's the nerdy kid brother, and me, I'm the baby, the one they all dote on. Gibbs? Kinda thought that was obvious. He's the dad, of course, protector and authority figure all rolled up in one. And right now Dad is disappointed in me, and it hurts just as bad as when I was a kid and got in trouble with my daddy.

Bet that surprises you. Bet you thought I was a hellion as a kid, didn't you? Everybody does, but I wasn't really. I mean, yeah, I've always been independent, that much is obvious, but I was mostly a good kid. I might've been a little eccentric, but for the most part I was the good Catholic they raised me to be.

Gotcha then, didn't I? It's true. I may be the mistress of the night now, but I was baptized Abigail Maria Celeste Scuito in St. Stephen's Catholic Church in New Orleans, and I spent my childhood in catholic schools. How do you think I ended up on a bowling team with nuns? I still go to mass sometimes. Once a catholic, always a catholic, I guess, and we Catholics are good at guilt.

The door opened then, and I jumped to alert, gripping Ziva's tazer gun, then…slumped back with relief. "Hey, Gibbs." He stepped into the elevator, closed the door, and sat down beside me, and I was suddenly nervous again. "Did you know that only five of the two and a half million deaths every year occur in elevators?"

"No," Gibbs answered quietly.

"Ziva gave me this," I say, holding up the gun, "and Cynthia gave me the pepper spray. The knuckles are Director Shepherd's." I was rattling, and I knew it, but I just couldn't seem to stop.

Gibbs, as usual, saw right through it. He met my eyes straight on. "No one is going to hurt you, Abby."

Of course he says that, he's Gibbs, but I really, really wanted to believe him. Still… "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"Did it?" Gibbs asked.

I love that he doesn't argue with me or deny it. He's just simple and straightforward, just the opposite of all my secrets and trying to keep it quiet. I scrunch down a little farther thinking about it. Then, I realize he's still watching me, waiting for my answer. "Yeah," I admit quietly. I may not quite believe it, but I do believe him. "Can you say it again?"

It sounds a little silly even to my own ears, but Gibbs doesn't laugh. "Nobody is going to hurt you, Abs," he repeats, quiet and firm. He opens his arms, and I scoot over into them, laying my head on his shoulder and curling intohim like a little girl snuggling in for a bedtime story. I may not deserve it, but I need the comfort badly. I've come close to dying twice in the last twenty-four hours, and it's rattled me down to my bones.

"Can I stay at NCIS until you catch him?" I ask quietly, unable to stop the tiny little girl voice that escapes.

"Mm-hmm." Gibbs nods slightly, pulling me closer and gently kissing the top of my head. "I'll move your whole lab into the elevator if it'll make you feel better."

I laugh at that. The mass spec alone would take up the entire elevator. Still, I appreciate the gesture, and more than that, I understand what lies unspoken in the silence beneath the words. He's pissed that I didn't come to him; he's pissed that I opened the door at Mcgee's and let Mikel in, but he still loves me, and he'll do whatever it takes to protect me.

The ding of the elevator and its clumsy shuddering halt take me by surprise. I hadn't even noticed we were moving until we stopped. The doors slide open and Jimmy appears goggling at us like we've suddenly grown two heads. I don't move and neither does Gibbs. Right now, I couldn't care less what Jimmy Palmer or anybody else thinks. Right now, the only opinion that matters is the one of the man sitting beside me. He loves me, and that's enough.


	2. Close Call

**AN: **Thanks to Sasha1600 for brainstorming, French, Abby's French rant and tech support.

* * *

By the time I bedded down in my lab for the night the little comfort Gibbs gave me had vanished. I mean, I knew Gibbs was right upstairs. Heck, everybody was right upstairs. They were all working around the clock. My family wasn't budging till they knew I was safe. That should have been a comfort, but somehow it just made it worse. This was all my fault. If I had ever doubted that, I didn't anymore. Queen Boudica had made it abundantly clear just how stupid I had been, and to make matters worse, tomorrow she'd air it all in open court and use it to get her little weasel of a client off. The very thought made me want to be sick.

I absolutely abhor anybody attacking my forensics. I'm used to the not-so-subtle comments about my appearance, or my lifestyle, or even my music, but I'm damn good at my job and none of that has anything to do with my job anymore than Tony's stupid movie fetish has to do with his. Sure, I didn't have a great track record with men, and admittedly, picking up Mikel in a cemetery had been one of the stupidest things I'd ever done, but just because I'm an idiot when it comes to relationships doesn't mean I'm not a good scientist. I am a good scientist, dammit.

When my phone rang, I answered without conscious thought. Jimmy Palmer's been calling me constantly since he left the office. It's kinda sweet, the way he's worried about me, but it's beginning to get annoying. "Jimmy, you don't have to keep calling me," I said with a long-suffering sigh. "I'm fine."

Unfortunately, the voice that answered me wasn't Jimmy. "It's Mikel, Abby. Don't hang up."

I bolted upright, heart racing. Terror flooded through me, but I forced myself to shove it down. " Oh, great," I said dryly, hoping desperately that I sounded calmer than I felt. "My biggest fan." I scrambled to my feet. 'Think, Abby, think' I told myself, 'you're a NCIS forensic scientist; you know what to do.'

"Look," Mikel was saying, "I know we got off on the wrong foot."

"The wrong foot?!" I blurt out. That had to be the understatement of the century. God, what had I ever seen in this creep? "The only right foot is my foot up your --!"

"Abby, Abby! Listen!" he broke in, cutting me off. "I need to see you".

"You really are insane." I was bouncing back and forth from foot to foot, trying desperately to think. What would Gibbs do in this situation?

"Look, if you would just trust me, I promise, nothing will happen to you."

Trust him? Puh-lease. He was about as trustworthy as a snake in the grass. "And if I don't? What? You're going to tear up that nice collage you were making for me?"

"Let's just say you're not as safe… as you think you are. Abby, somebody tried to kill you in your own lab! You're not safe in there."

"Oh, and let me guess," I said dryly," you're the only person that can protect me?"

"See?" Mikel sounded ridiculously happy. "You're starting to understand. That's good."

Trace the call. The thought hit me with the force of an 18 wheeler. If I hadn't been holding the phone, I'd have smacked myself. How big an idiot could I possibly be? I raced for the computer, rattling about anything that came to mind just to keep him talking. "You know that time somebody broke into my house and stole my mail?"

"'Yeah, that was pretty scary, huh?"

The ridiculous tone of concern had me wanting to roll my eyes, but I kept talking, typing commands as quickly as I could and frantically trying to isolate a signal."Yeah, and that crazy freak that kept slashing my tires."

"I was really worried about you then, Abs."

Worried? Of all the crazy, psycho… The search failed, and I exploded. "Mikel, that was you! You slashed my tires! You stole my mail!"

"What does any of that matter, as long as it made you realize your true feelings for me, Abs, huh? " Mikel asked. " No, no, no, no. Try using the S.I.D. instead of the E.S.N. for the registration request."

"That's a good idea," I agreed, trying it. Then, with terrifying clarity, it dawned on me that in order to suggest that, Mikel had to be able to see me. I turned toward the window, and there he was, grinning at me like a demented gargoyle.

And then out of nowhere Ziva yelled for me to get down. I dropped on instinct and suddenly the team was swarming my lab and Gibbs was asking if I was ok.

Ok? Was he crazy? Hell, no, I wasn't ok. "No!"

Gibbs seemed to take that as confirmation that I was indeed ok and went back to barking commands. "Ziva, lock down the yard. No in or outs. We'll find him, Abby."

"Now I can't stay here, Gibbs," I said. My body was shaking despite my best efforts to the contrary, and I was fighting hard not to dissolve into tears.

"Definitely not staying at McGee's place," Tony put in from behind me.

"No place is safe," I told him shakily. "If he can get to me on the Navy Yard, he can get to me anywhere."

Suddenly, Gibbs was crouched at my side. "Not anywhere," he said softly, rubbing a comforting hand over my hair. "Not anywhere."

If only I could believe him

I huddled in the passenger seat of Gibbs' truck, wrapped in his NCIS windbreaker, and concentrated on stopping shaking. It was a losing battle.

He'd gotten to me on the Navy Yard, even with all our security gates and checkpoints and MPs. He'd successfully infiltrated an armed federal agency, and then he'd escaped.

Not that I thought he'd stay escaped for long. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that Gibbs would hunt Mikel to the ends of the earth if necessary. Even now, he had every available warm body combing over every inch of the Navy Yard. The only reason he wasn't there himself was because he was with me, and he'd made it perfectly clear he didn't intend to let me out of his sight until Mikel was in custody. That should have felt safe; it usually did, but I'd escaped by moments far too often in the past two days for my own comfort. Quite frankly, I was terrified, and not sure even Gibbs could fix it this time.

I folded my arms tight around my body. How could I have possibly been so stupid? He broke into my house. He stole my mail and he slashed my tires and still I convinced myself he was just harmless and confused. I'm a forensic scientist. I work in law enforcement. I know the statistics. I've worked plenty of domestic violence cases when I did my NCIS internship in grad school yet I still convinced myself he was harmless. Stupid…Stupid…Stupid. Just what did he have to do to convince me? Actually hurt me? I shivered involuntarily, remembering his arms tightening around me when he grabbed me last night. It'd been so close.

"He's not going to get to you, Abs," Gibbs said as we turned onto the street toward his house. "No one will get to you here."

Ari got to you here, I thought, but I didn't say it. If I said it aloud, Gibbs was bound to argue, and I didn't really want to think about that awful possibility. Not at all. Much safer to concentrate on my own stupidity. Yet the thought was there, dogging me just as clearly as the guilt as we pulled up to Gibbs' house and I followed him to the door.

"Coffee?" Gibbs asked as we stepped inside, eyeing me with a concerned expression as I stuffed my hands inside the sleeves of the jacket and rubbed my arms, trying desperately to chase the feelings away.

I shook my head. "I'm wired enough as it is. Any more caffeine and I won't sleep for days."

Gibbs nodded but headed into the kitchen to start himself a pot anyway. I followed, sinking into a chair at the table. "There's milk," Gibbs continued as he dumped coffee into the coffeemaker and set it to brew, "and I could probably scrounge up hot chocolate if you want."

I smiled at that. I love hot chocolate. "Hot chocolate would be great," I told him. "I'm surprised, Gibbs, never figured you for the cocoa type."

Gibbs shrugged, pulling the mix out of a cabinet. "Kelly liked it," he said quietly.

I was a little surprised at the admission, but not shocked. For all his denial, Kelly is still very much a part of his life. "She rubbed off on her old man, huh?" He nodded, looking sheepish, then turned back to filling a coffee cup with mix and milk and popping it in the microwave.

In the quiet that descended between us, all the guilt and embarrassment came flooding back. I dropped my head in my hands, groaning. "I feel so stupid. I haven't felt this stupid since I nearly failed French in sixth grade."

Gibbs laughed. "You, Abs? Can't see you failing anything."

"Not anything that makes sense, but French doesn't make sense," I groused. "All the stupid nouns have genders and there's stupid accents everywhere and the adjectives hafta agree with the nouns and sometimes verbs do too but not always and the stupid subjunctive case that nice normal languages like English stopped using a couple of centuries ago. What makes sense about that?"

Gibbs, who apparently found the statement hilarious, dissolved with laughter. "Ah, ma pauvre! Tu as trouve le francais trop difficile?"

Without thinking, I lifted my middle finger in reply. I'd forgotten Gibbs once lived in Paris.

Gibbs laughed even harder. "Abigail, I'm shocked, such language."

"Oh please, you were a Marine. I doubt I could find language to shock you."

"True," he conceded, passing me my cup and taking a seat across from me with his coffee. "Just be glad French at least has the same alphabet. Russian was a bitch to learn."

I shuddered at the thought. "Science is my language."

He nodded. "That you speak like a native. So, what happened in the sixth grade?"

"Sister Mary Catherine hated me." I heard the whine but didn't care. Gibbs, damn him, laughed at me. "She did," I insisted. "I sucked at French from the beginning, but did she care? Nooooo. She was merciless, and that's not a good quality for a nun either, let me tell you."

"Come on, Abs. You lived in New Orleans. You had to have known a French speaker or twenty. Surely your parents could have found someone to tutor you."

"Probably," I conceded, "if they'd known."

Gibbs' eyes widened. "You didn't tell them."

I shook my head.

"Didn't your teacher tell them?"

"She tried," I replied, "but I hid or threw away the notes she sent home."

"Asking for trouble weren't you?"

I shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical.

"What?" I asked. "It did. I was twelve and had never failed a class before. It was embarrassing. I didn't want anybody to know, especially not my dad. He was a teacher so school was a big deal. Besides, I honestly thought I could handle it on my own."

"Did you?" Gibbs wanted to know.

"I might have," I said, "if Sr. Mary Catherine hadn't figured out what I was doing and sent a letter home in the mail. Gloria got the mail every morning so they knew before I ever got home."

Gibbs winced sympathetically, but I could tell he was trying not to laugh. "What did your parents say?" he asked.  
"Gloria, being Gloria, didn't say much." My mother was, and is, something of a hippie. She believed that all people were equals, including children, and we should make our own choices and live our own lives. We call her by her first name, and she was pretty much open to letting us do whatever we wanted as long as it wasn't too dangerous.

Gibbs looked decidedly disapproving but didn't say anything. He'd met Gloria years ago, and I knew his opinions on Gloria's parenting well already.

"Daddy, on the other hand, was _not_ happy."

Gibbs shot me a surprised look. "No?"

"Oh no. Daddy was pretty much Gloria's polar opposite, and he had plenty to say," I told him, wincing inwardly at the memory of just how Daddy had chosen to make his displeasure known.

"So what happened?"

I couldn't stop myself from squirming, even this many years later. "He gave me one of the worst spankings of my life, then found me a tutor."

"I think I would have liked your dad," Gibbs said.

"Probably so," I said. Gibbs had never met daddy. Daddy had died my first year of grad school. "He was the structured one. Gloria was all about freedom. Daddy said freedom was fine in moderation, but there were wrongs and there were rights, and hiding notes meant for him fell squarely on the side of wrong."

"He's right," Gibbs said, "but I bet Gloria didn't see it that way."

I shrugged. "Probably not, but she never interfered. They'd apparently agreed to disagree long ago. For as long as I can remember, he disciplined us and she didn't and neither one interfered with the other's way. I guess it was weird, but it worked. Doesn't seem to have screwed us up too much. After all, my tendency to attract psychos isn't their fault."

"This is not your fault, Abby," Gibbs said firmly.

"Ok," I said softly and got up to wash my cup, praying fervently that Gibbs wouldn't call it for the lie it was.

"You need to get some sleep," was all he said.

"Yeah, I think I will," I said, grateful for the out. I headed toward the guest room without a thought. I'd stayed with Gibbs several times over the years when things went wrong at my apartment, and by now I knew his house nearly as well as my own. I flipped on the guest room light and grabbed my bag then stopped, puzzled, when I realized I had nothing to sleep in. Great. The clothes I'd been wearing at Mcgee's were evidence, and my apartment was off limits until Mikel was captured.

"Here." Gibbs appeared suddenly at the door, tossed me one of his old Marines tee shirts, and disappeared again.

"Thanks," I called after him. He didn't reply, but I hadn't expected him to. I changed quickly, flipped off the light, and crawled into bed, hoping the friendly dark would chase away the monster.


	3. Actions and Reactions

**AN: SPANKING AHEAD. Story contains the non-sexual spanking of an adult. Don't like. Don't read.**

For M, who asked for the last scene.

* * *

I stood in my lab frozen in terror. Mikel grinned ghoulishly from the window then with morphing properties best suited for a really creepy science fiction movie, reached through the window and grabbed me. I twisted and kicked and screamed. Thisisnotpossible. This. Is. Not. Possible. I knew it yet I was still trapped and alone and helpless.

I startled awake, heart pounding. Dammit, not again. Glancing at the clock, I realize it hasn't even been an hour since the last one. Every damn time I close my eyes…

Furious now, I sit up and shove back the blankets, cursing Mikel to the lowest levels of hell and myself more for getting into such a god-awful mess in the first place. After all, if I hadn't been so stupid in the first place this would never have happened. The restlessness becomes too much and I get up and start to pace. If I were home, I'd blast it away with a nice violent video game or find a good chat room, but here there's nothing but me and dark. Gibbs doesn't even get descent cable. He says he doesn't need it, spends all his time working on the boat anyway. Knowing Gibbs, that's probably what he's doing now. He won't sleep, not when he considers himself on protection detail. Deciding sleep is clearly a lost cause, I throw my pants back on and head downstairs. He'll eventually send me back to bed but at least I'll have company for a little while.

To my surprise, the basement is empty. I started to head back upstairs in search of Gibbs, but caught sight of the bottle of bourbon in the clutter on the workbench and stopped. That might be the best cure for the nightmares I'd find here. I grabbed the bottle and gulped down a slug before I could change my mind, grimacing at the taste. I really don't like bourbon, but at this point, if it'd help me sleep, I'd deal. With that in mind, I turned the bottle up again. And again.

After awhile, I decided I might as well do something useful and picked up a piece of sandpaper. I knew nothing about boats, but I'd spent enough time on Habitat builds to be able to handle sanding. Besides, moving calmed me, and it would distract from just how horrible this bourbon tasted.

Dating Mikel had been fun in the beginning. He shared my interests, right down to my taste in music, and being a crime scene cleanup guy, was one of the few people I'd ever dated who understood my job. He never complained when I got called in. He was as likely to get called in as I was. I know Tony thought the cuffs and straight jacket were weird, but I just thought they were cool. We'd both dabbled in the BDSM scene now and then so it was nothing new. Even his obsessive bent was kind of fun at first, just an extension of the play. Of course, then he'd broken into my apartment, and it got a little creepy, but that's all I'd ever believed it was. I meant it when I told Gibbs he was harmless. Before now I'd never thought him otherwise. I was such an idiot.

Some scientist I was, so stuck in my belief that I ignored all evidence to the contrary. How stupid could I possibly be? And as if that wasn't bad enough, now I'd dragged the whole team into it. They'd put their lives on hold, canceled plans, forgone sleep, pulled out all the stops, because of me. I'd have done the same for any of them in a heartbeat, but this was different. This was my fault.

I stopped to take another drink and realized with a start that I was no longer afraid. "Nothing like a nice quiet dungeon-like basement to calm the nerves," I murmured. I looked up when Gibbs came down the stairs, noting absently that I'd been right. He clearly hadn't slept at all.

"You need to sleep, Abby," he said quietly, coming up behind me.

"I know!" I replied, frustrated. "I tried. Every time I close my eyes, I see Mikel."

Gibbs didn't comment. Instead, he laid his hand over mine and corrected my sanding. "With the grain."

"I thought I was," I admitted sheepishly. Gibbs stepped past me, dusted off a spot on the boat and took a seat "I don't understand why people drink alcohol when they're depressed. Because alcohol is a depressant. Now I'm so depressed … and I'm nauseous. And I'm really drunk." I knew I was rattling but I couldn't stop. The block of wood the sand paper had been wrapped around flew out of my hands. I stared after it for a minute wondering what had happened then dropped the remaining sand paper and headed back toward the workbench in search of something else to occupy my hands. I was vaguely aware of Gibbs taking the bottle out of my hands but somehow that didn't seem important. The saw looked pretty cool so I picked it up and used it to gesture with. "Which means that tomorrow I have to go fight a hangover while I'm in court while some ambulance-chasing attorney tries to attack my credibil…" I broke off as Gibbs plucked the saw out of my hands. "What is wrong with me, Gibbs? " I asked, walking back to the workbench and picking up a clamp. "What did I do to deserve this?" The guilt and tears that had plagued me all night were bubbling perilously close to the surface.

"It's not about you, Abby," Gibbs said. "It's about him

"Then why do I feel so guilty?" I asked quietly, voice shaky with tears.

"I don't know." Gibbs said matter-of-factly. "Why do you?"

" Because…" I admitted softly, fighting not to cry. "I think this might all be my fault."

" Maybe it is," Gibbs replied.

I whirled and stared at him, devastated and completely shocked. "How could you say that to me, Gibbs? I didn't do anything wrong. Just because some defective lunatic can't get it through his thick skull that I think he is a defective lunatic! That is not my fault, Gibbs! That's not my fault at all! This is not my fault!" I stopped suddenly, realizing I had proven myself wrong. "It's not my fault," I said again, slowly. I picked up a hammer and chisel and went back. I picked up a hammer and chisel and went back to attack a stubborn spot on the boat. "Hm. I see why you like to work on boat, Gibbs. Very, very cathartic!"

I put the chisel against the stubborn spot and gave it a hard whack. I expected a fine sliver of wood to peel away but instead a huge chunk broke off and clattered to the floor. Oh shit! I broke Gibbs' boat. He was going to kill me! "Oops," I said in a small voice, hanging my head and handing over the tools. "Suddenly having a stalker on the loose isn't so scary."

"He's not on the loose, Abby," Gibbs said, plucking the tools out of my hands in the matter-of-fact manner of a parent dealing with an overcurious toddler. "That's what I came down here to tell you. DiNozzo called. The Coast Guard picked up Mikel Mawher trying to cross the Anacostia. "

Suddenly, I was stone cold sober. I stared at him. I knew I must be gaping like a landed fish, but I couldn't stop…couldn't move…couldn't think.

Gibbs opened his arms, and suddenly I was moving without conscious thought, scrambling into his lap like a tiny child. If it startled Gibbs, he didn't show it. He just wrapped his arms around me and said quietly, "We got him, Abs. He can't ever hurt you again. And this is _not_ your fault." I nodded silently against his chest. "Hey!" he said with enough sternness to make me look up. "I mean it." He slipped a finger under my chin and lifted my head up until he was staring right into my eyes. "Mawher is not your fault. Got it?"

There's enough of a dad voice in his tone that I had to bite back the 'yes, sir' that came immediately to mind. I knew Gibbs hated sir as much as I hate ma'am, but I was raised in the South; it's habit. "Got it."

"The way I see it," Gibbs went on after a minute, "there are only two things in this whole mess that really are your fault."

"There are?" I said in a small voice.

Gibbs nodded. "Mm-hmm, know what those are."

I shook my head though I have a sinking suspicion I knew where this is going. He pinned me with a stern look that made me cringe. "I should've come to you," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

"Yes, you should have," he agreed, in a tone of quiet steel that he'd never used with me before. "It had better never happen again. I don't care how stupid and embarrassing it seems. You come to me. Understood?"

I bit my lip hard, guilt and shame flooding me. How could I have been so stupid?

"Answer me, Abigail."

"Yes, sir," I whisper. This time it came unbidden, and there was no stopping it. I realized with a start that I was signing as well, my hands moving without conscious thought, lapsing into the language of my childhood. I clasped my hands together to stop it, but Gibbs seemed to understand, sliding into ASL as easily as I did.

"Anything else?" he asked.

I knew what he wanted, but I couldn't say it. "I didn't mean to. I thought it was Tim."

"But you didn't check. You knew the danger you were in. You knew better than to open that door. Mcgee told you—more than once—not to open that door yet you did it anyway," he said furiously, letting his anger show through for the first time. "Hell, Abs, even a kid knows better than that."

I dropped my head. There was nothing I could say to that. "It was stupid," I admitted in a whisper.

"Oh yeah," he agreed with a wry quirk of an eyebrow, "it was." He tapped my chin with just enough force to make it a command, and I lifted my head to look at him. "If Dinozzo had done something that stupid I'd have busted his ass down to desk duty before he knew what hit him, and he'd still be seeing stars." He touched the back of my head briefly, letting it linger just enough to make a point. "What did I tell you about if I had to start smacking you like I do Dinozzo?" he asked, deadly quiet, breathing the question into my ear.

I swallowed hard, heart pounding, as the memory flooded me with sudden, startling clarity. "That it wouldn't be on the head," I whispered.

"Did you know what that meant?" he asked.

I bit my lip hard and squeezed my eyes shut. Oh god, how was I supposed to answer that? Of course I knew what it meant. There was a hint there the size of a football field. Besides, it's something of an open secret that I'm no stranger to spanking, at least in fun. And hadn't I told him earlier that I was no stranger to it as a kid either. But this, this was different.

"I asked you a question," Gibbs prompted, edging into his Marine voice.

The words froze in my throat. I nodded weakly, signing "yes" simultaneously.

"What did it mean, Abs?" he asked.  
Oh, god. Oh, god. Why'd he have to ask that? Come on, Gibbs, we both know. Don't make me say it.

"Abby…" he said, pinning me in his famous Gibbs stare.

I knew that tone, and I couldn't do anything but respond. "You'd spank me," I whispered.

"You knew that?" he asked again.

I knew if I admitted it I was dooming myself, and the thought of that turned my stomach inside out. Yet…I had known. The guilt that had plagued me all day was proof of that. Deep down inside I deserved this and I knew it. "Yes, sir."

He let his hand slide down to my back, rubbing it in gentle circles for one long quiet moment before he pulled me to my feet and tilted me over his knee. My heart raced and my stomach knotted as his hand caught the hem of the old tee shirt he'd loaned me and pushed it up to the middle of my back. Then, his hand came down on my butt, hard. Looking back, I suppose I should have been outraged, but it all happened so fast I didn't have time to think. I whimpered and squirmed but Gibbs just kept spanking hard and fast. I have a pretty high pain tolerance, but this freakin' hurt, a relentless fire that just never stopped. My pants offered no protection whatsoever. Before I knew it, I was kicking and squealing and crying, twisting and begging. "Please….please…I'll be good….plllleeeeeeeaaaassse." He didn't even pause, if anything the swats seemed to get even harder. "Won't…Do...It… Again," I gasped out between sobs. By now I was sobbing like a child and I couldn't have cared less.

"Damn straight you won't," Gibbs growled. "You ever but yourself in danger like that again, and I'll take a belt to you till you won't sit for a month." I shook my head hard, terrified at even the thought. I actually liked using a belt in play, but the thought of Gibbs whipping me was beyond horrible. "Is that understood, young lady?"

"Yyyyessss, ssssir," I sobbed. Then, suddenly, Gibbs stopped, and before I knew what was happening, he had lifted me and was hugging me hard.

"I mean it, Abs," he said in a fierce, choked whisper. "I can't lose you. Can't do that again."

With sudden, blinding clarity, I understood. God, how could I have missed it. After all, I'm well aware of our family dynamic. It is, in a way, what got me here. I mean, don't get me wrong. My own choices earned what I got, but the reason I chose to accept a spanking—and it was a choice. He wouldn't have laid a hand on me otherwise—was our family. At this moment, he wasn't my boss or even my friend. He was my dad. We both knew he'd been my surrogate father since the day I walked into headquarters, 25 and wide-eyed, fresh off a transfer from the bustling metropolis of Kings Bay, GA. And what he saw was his daughter walking into the hands of a psycho stalker. He already lost one daughter to a madman, and now…

The thought brought me to tears again. I clung to him, desperately. "I'm sorry. I'm sooo sorry."

"Shhhh," Gibbs soothed, holding me tight and rocking me like a tiny child. "It's all over now, Abs." He kept rocking and murmuring, comforting me until the tears gave way to sniffles and shaky breaths.

After a while, I pushed off his chest and snaked a hand back to rub my bottom. The fire had died down some, but it still hurt like hell. "That hurt." I could hear the pout in my voice, and I didn't care.

One eyebrow rose in a half-amused quirk. "Good."

"Good?" I repeated, outraged. "It huuuurrrrt."

"I meant it to. If a sore backside is what it takes to keep you safe , then I'll do it again. I don't like it Abby, but I will do it."

There wasn't a doubt in my mind that he meant it and that didn't bother me. I know, I know, it sounds awfully heavy-handed and modern sensibility says I should be furious. If it were anybody else, I would be. But this is Gibbs. It's not about age, or gender or even being in charge. It's just about being his. Everyone on his team is his, up to and including the director, and we all know it. It's just another way of saying he's got my back, or my six, as he would say. He'll protect me, even from my own stupidity. How can I be mad at that? It's the safest feeling in the world.

"Can you sleep now?" he asked quietly.

"Think so," I murmured, stifling a yawn even as I said it.

He set me on my feet then stood himself, guiding me toward the stairs with an arm around my shoulders. I dug in my heels and stopped him. "No," I said, not caring that my voice comes out sounding about five, "I wanna stay here, with you." I knew it was silly, but I was feeling ridiculously clingy, and I knew without it ever being said that he wouldn't be coming upstairs for while, if at all.

"How are you gonna sleep down here, Abs?"

I shrugged. "You do it."

He didn't bother denying it. We both knew it was common knowledge he slept down here as often as he does upstairs. "You can't sleep under the boat," he said exasperated.

"Why not? You do."

"Because I'm not trying to work on the boat when I'm sleeping under it."

"Oh," I said softly. Clearly I'm still drunker than I thought. That problem had not even occurred to me. "I can just curl up on the floor," I insisted. "It's not like it's the first time I've spent the night on the floor."

Gibbs sighed. "Abs, be reasonable. There's a perfectly good bed just upstairs. You don't need to sleep on the floor."

"Ok, fine," I huffed, heading for the stairs.

For one brief moment, I saw the surprise flit through Gibbs' eyes, but he covered it quickly. "Good girl," he said. "I'll be up in a little bit." I had to choke back a laugh. Clearly he thought he had won this one.

He didn't even look up when he heard me come back down the stairs. "Abby," he said in a warning tone, "go to bed."

"I am," I replied. I dropped the two sofa cushions I was carrying down the stairs. They landed at the bottom with a soft thud. I arranged them in an out of the way corner, and shot Gibbs a look, practically daring him to argue. He didn't. He just shook his head amusedly as I flopped down on my stomach, using Bert as a pillow, and pulled an old quilt over me. He turned back to the boat and lulled by the warm scent of saw dust and soft shuffles of Gibbs's movements, finally, I slept.


	4. Gibbs's Epilogue

It didn't take her long to fall asleep. I'd known it wouldn't. She was just flat worn out, not to mention drunk as hell. I glanced down at the bottle of bourbon I'd set aside, shaking my head. What the hell was she thinking? It's not that she was drinking. Hell, I've gone on way to many benders myself to condemn anybody else, and I've seen Abs so drunk all she could do was giggle. But bourbon? Abby doesn't drink bourbon. She drinks strange glowy drinks with cutesy names and colors that ought to belong to some toxic chemical in her lab. And not just bourbon, _my_ bourbon, which even I admit is only a few steps above paint thinner. If I had needed one, that was as good a clue as any of just what shape she was in.

I picked up the bourbon and slugged it. It was a damn good thing Mawher was in a cage. If I had been the one to catch up with him, I'd have probably killed him, and I wouldn't have bothered with a gun. At this moment, there's very little I'd like better than beating the bastard to a bloody pulp. Terrorizing anyone is horrible. Terrorizing a woman is inexcusable. But Abby… Abby's mine. And no one messes with my family, especially not my girls.

Hell, yes, it's chauvinistic, and I don't give a damn. Don't think for a minute it means I don't respect them. I'm under the command of the only female director of an armed federal agency, remember, and unlike Mike Franks, I don't think that's a sign of al1 that's wrong in the world. Jenny Sheppard's a damn good agent. I've put my life in her hands more than once and wouldn't hesitate to do it again. Truthfully, respecting them is the whole point. I respect them too much to let anyone hurt them, even themselves.

Abby's still sound asleep, sprawled on her stomach, but every now and then, she sniffles or her breath catches on a half-sob. I'm tempted to carry her up to bed, but I'd rather not wake her. Instead, I just step over and settle the blanket over her and run my hand over her head. I haven't resorted to physical discipline in a long time, at least not beyond a random smack on the back of the head now and then. Oh, I've done it before, just not in years. Not since Jen was a probie, in fact. I chuckled at the memory. She'd been very young, very green, and so damned relentless I was afraid she'd get herself killed—and then one day she very nearly had.

We'd been on a stakeout in Norfolk. It was the middle of summer and so hot in the tiny, airless box of an apartment we were holed up in it felt like we were being boiled alive. We were investigating a drug ring that was purportedly selling on base in conjunction with the local LEOs. We'd had a couple close calls but nothing that would hold up in court. On the fourth day, Jenny got tired of waiting and decided to make a buy herself—alone. She'd been determined to get them, and as she put it 'damn tired of waiting in this hellhole.' The dealer had made her in minutes. Any idiot would have. She was so green she practically glowed. He'd been seconds from putting a bullet in her brain when I caught up with them and put a bullet in his.

Then I gave serious thought to killing her with my bare hands.

"What in the hell were you thinking?" I asked, slamming the apartment door behind me as I followed her in.

"I was thinking we needed to do something to catch the guy," Jen shot back hotly. "That is, after all, our job."

"Not at the expense of your life," I said, furious. I scrubbed a hand over my head, seething. If she were one of my marines, I'd…

"You'd what?" Jenny broke in. "Hell, if I were a man under your command we'd probably be out celebrating right now. It's perfectly fine for a man to break out on his own, but let a woman try to take some initiative…"

It took me a moment to realize I'd spoken the thought aloud. "If you were one of my men, I'd kick your ass into next week for being so goddamned stupid," I fumed, hands fisted from the sheer effort not to break her fool neck.

The little idiot actually had the nerve to take a step forward. "You want to take a swing at me, fine. I'm trained in hand to hand same as you are."

I moved without thinking, sweeping her leg out from under her and putting her on the floor so fast she never saw it coming. I'd never lay hands on a woman in anger, but I had absolutely no qualms about putting her on her ass. "You may be an agent, Jen, but FLETC can't hold a candle to the Corps. Don't tempt me again." I reached out to help her up, but she ignored me and pushed herself up off the floor. "Let's go," I said, making a split second decision and heading for the door. "I'm too angry to deal with you right now, and you need to run off some of that attitude."

I could hear her spluttering and arguing behind me, but I ignored her and set out at an easy jog. "That wasn't a suggestion, Agent Sheppard," I called back after a beat. "Move!" I slowed long enough to be sure she was following me then kicked it up a notch. I wasn't all that surprised when Jen caught up with me a few minutes later, she was flushed and panting, but her face was set in grim determination and she was matching me nearly stride for stride.

I shook my head. That was the problem. She was so damned determined to prove herself and to hell with the consequences. What she didn't realize was that she didn't need to prove herself, not to me and not to the director. He, like most everyone at NCIS, knew I suffered no fools. Jenny Sheppard would have never been placed on my team if she hadn't had potential, and she wouldn't have lasted a week if she hadn't been damn good. But if she didn't stop trying to prove herself she was going to get herself killed.

I sighed and glanced over at her. She was feeling it now. I could see it in her eyes. But she was trying her damnedest not to give in, determined to take whatever I dished out even if she ran herself into the ground doing it. Some people, Jenny obviously included, admired and strove for that kind of blind determination, but I knew it could be dangerous. It'd cost me a chunk of my memory and two marriages, and I'd seen it get a lot of Marines killed. I'd been damned if I was going to add a hot head redhead NCIS agent to that list.

I took pity on her then and looped back around toward the apartment, though I never slowed lest she realize I was cutting her slack and start spouting her anything-you-can-do-I can-do mantra at me again. Jenny wasn't my first headstrong green recruit by any means. Between my days as an MP and being accepted for sniper training, I spent a couple years as a TI, training young soldiers. There had been days when I was dealing with so many knucklehead teenagers I'd felt like a high school principal. And contrary to what Jenny seemed to believe, she wasn't the first female agent I'd worked with. I'd even worked with female soldiers. Hell, there'd been female Marines since World War II. She wasn't nearly so much the trailblazer she thought herself to be.

She was, however, the first female—agent or soldier—that I was directly responsible for, and that was my problem. My general method of dealing with a headstrong newbie who had pulled a stupid stunt like Jenny had today would be to take him off privately and take my belt to his ass until I was sure the lesson was burned in his memory, and he wouldn't do a stupid thing like that again. It wasn't exactly Marine Corps sanctioned, but it was common enough among the older COs, including many I had served with, that it didn't really raise any eyebrows either. They thought I was an old fashioned hardass and that was that.

NCIS, however, was entirely different. For all its military connections, it was entirely a civilian agency, and I was sure that whipping an agent and a female one at that, no matter how much she deserved it, would raise more than a few eyebrows. Yet she was hellbent on being treated the same, and there wasn't a doubt in my mind she deserved it as much as any young Marine I'd ever dealt with had. Punishing her like that just didn't set well with me though. For all her equal rights rhetoric, Jenny was a woman, and it went against everything I believed to strike a woman. Still, I was damn tempted to give her what she thought she wanted.

I was still debating the notion when Jenny stumbled in behind me, bent double, gasping for breath, and looking for all the world like she was moments from either passing out or throwing up. Thankfully, she did neither. She just stood there and glared at me.

"What the hell was that about?" she asked furiously after she caught her breath. "Some crazy Marine idea of punishing me. Ok, fine, I get it. I made a stupid move. Now, can we please go home?"

"That wasn't punishment," I said quietly. "That was just what I said. I needed to calm down, and I'd hoped it'd help you burn off some of that attitude. Obviously, that part didn't work. We haven't even begun to talk about punishment...yet."

Jenny sighed and rolled her eyes in a way that reminded me strongly of an obnoxious 12-yr-old. "You want to write me up, fine. You do what you need to do. I'm going home." She made a move to go around me and grab her bag, but I stepped over and blocked her path.

"You really think I should treat you the same?" I asked.

"Of course you should," she said coolly. "I am the same as any of your other agents. I don't expect any special treatment from you, now or ever." With that, she spun on her heel and began packing up our equipment.

All my internal debate disappeared, and I reached for my belt. If she was so damned determined to be treated the same, then by god, I'd treat her the same.

"Stop." I meant it as an order, and we both knew it, but she ignored me as if she hadn't heard. "Now, Agent Sheppard." She hesitated then and finally stopped. She was pissed, but she wasn't crazy enough to disobey a direct order, and we both knew that's what it was.

"Fine," she said, turning slowly, "I stopped. Are you--" At the sight of the belt in my hand she froze, eyes widening in shock. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"Treating you the same," I said simply. "If any of my men had pulled the stunt you did today, I'd have whipped them in a heartbeat, and you're right, there's no reason to treat you different just because you're a woman."

She drew in a sharp breath and took a step backward. "No," she said firmly. "There is no way I'm letting you beat me."

"Never had any intention of beating you," I told her.

Her eyes flicked briefly down to the belt then back up at me. "Really?" she said dryly, clearly doubtful.

"Really," I replied. "There's a world of difference between a spanking and a beating." Jenny knew the difference too. I could see it in her eyes. "I think you know that."

She didn't answer, just glared at me. "Whatever you call it, you're _not_ hitting me."

I shrugged. "Ok."

"Ok?" Jenny repeated, shock written all over her face.

I nodded. "You're the one who said I should treat you the same, but I won't force you. That would be a beating, and I do not beat women. I can handle this through official channels. You should know though that if I do that your career will take a hit. A reprimand this serious, this early in your career will leave a mark."

That got her attention. Her eyes widened and her attitude deflated. She was torn now. I could see the conflict written in every line of her body. She absolutely did not want me to punish her, and in all honesty, I couldn't blame her. A whipping hurt, plain and simple.

At the same time, she valued her career, greatly, and the idea of having it damaged shook her deeply. Not to mention that it galled her to think I'd treat her differently. Part of her wanted to prove that she could take anything a man could, even if what they were taking wasn't something she wanted. Slowly, I began to thread my belt back through the loops, waiting.

"Wait," she said hesitantly. I paused. I hadn't even made it through the third loop. "If I let you…um…handle this, it stays off the record."

I nodded. "It never leaves this room. Once it's over, it's over for good."

"Just a spanking," she said quietly, blushing furiously and stumbling over the word, "nothing more?"

"Of course not," I replied. Though I understood the motive behind the question, I was more than a little offended that she felt the need to ask it. Surely she realized I'd never hurt her. Sure this wouldn't be pleasant, but I'd never dream of really hurting her, and god help anyone else who tried.

She took a deep breath and seemed to gather herself together. "Ok."

I raised an eyebrow. "Ok what?"

She shot me an exasperated look. "Ok, I'll do it."

"Do what?" I knew perfectly well what she meant, but I needed her to say it aloud.

"Come _on_, Gibbs," she said, clearly frustrated. I leaned back against the wall and waited, leveling her with a pointed look. After a long, tense moment, she gave an exaggerated huff and said, "I'll let you handle it."

I nodded, sliding my belt back off and folding it over in my hand. Then, I gestured with it toward the folding table we'd been using as a desk. One end was cluttered with surveillance equipment, but we'd kept the other clear to have working and eating space. "Bend over the table."

Jen froze, eyes flaring wide like a deer caught in headlights. "No, wait, maybe…"

"No," I said firmly, stepping up to catch her by the elbow and propel her forward. "You made your decision. Right now, you only have one choice. You either do as you're told, or you make things worse, and trust me when I tell you, you do not want worse."

That seemed to take the wind out of her sails. She moved quickly into position with the efficiency of someone familiar with the process. So, I thought wryly, she's been here before. Either her parents or one of those fancy schools she went to had been traditional enough to use the old ways too.

I put my free hand on her back and took a deep breath. Now that the time had come, I was more than a little nervous myself. I'd never punished a woman before, and the last thing I wanted to do was screw up and really hurt her. Steeling myself, I raised the belt and brought it down hard on her ass. Jenny gasped and made a small choked sound. I let out the breath I didn't realized I'd been holding and did it again. And again. By the third, she could no longer hold back her cries, and by the sixth, she was crying openly. By the tenth and last, all fight was gone, she simply went limp and sobbed.

I kept my hand on her back, rubbing in a way I hoped was comforting. I could feel her body tremble with the force of her tears, and it tore at my heart to know I had caused her this pain. At the same time, I knew without question if it took this to keep her from getting herself killed, I'd do it again without the slightest hesitation.

Abby shifted in her sleep, drawing me back to the present. I'd said much the same to her earlier, and I meant it. I didn't take using this kind of punishment lightly. I've only done it a few times in all the years I've been at NCIS, and only with Jen. Until now, she was the only person I've had a relationship with that was deep enough and strong enough to handle it, and even with her, it was different. I only ever used it when she was a probie. Later, when we became partners—and lovers, I thought with a small smile at the memory—the dynamic simply wasn't there. It was all too complicated. And even the few times I did spank Jen, it was far different from what happened tonight with Abby. With Jen, it was much the same as with my Marines. She was a trainee, and I was her CO. With Abby, it couldn't have been more different.

From the moment I laid eyes on Abby Scuito, she brought out a fierce protectiveness in me. Not, though many have speculated, that of a lover, or even like the bounds forged in combat, she brought out feelings in me I thought long dead, feelings I thought I'd buried in the ground with my only child. Though Abby was hardly an innocent, there was something so open and childlike about her, that I felt drawn to her with the nearly overwhelming need of a father to protect his child.

Abby had lost her own father just a few years before coming to NCIS and seemed to need it as much as I did. Though we've never talked about it, over the years we've evolved easily into our current relationship of easy affection and gentle teasing. I've known for years that she, much like Kelly, looked to me as the one who could fix anything, and she makes me want to be able to do that for her.

But I can't fix things if she hides them from me. I'd told her it was over, and I meant it, but it galled me to think she'd hid it from me for so long. And then when I found out she'd opened the damn door at McGee's… I won't lie. When they told me that, there was a part of me that wanted to throttle her. What the hell was she thinking? Still, that wasn't why I spanked her. Although I doubt even Abby would believe me, given that I made that crack about smacking like DiNozzo months ago, before I came down here tonight, the thought of spanking her hadn't entered my mind. At least not beyond those random thoughts of being ready to throttle her.

I, of all people, understand how suspicious that sounds, but the truth is the threat was meant to be half joking and completely empty, something along the lines of, "Don't make me come in there…" No one's ever quite clear why not or what happens if they do, but everyone knows it's not good and no one wants to find out. Abby was being obnoxious, bouncing around with that damn camera, and I was betting on the fact that the threat alone would be enough. I never actually planned on carrying it through.

Don't get me wrong I fully intended on having quite a few stern words for Abby when this was all over, but never more than that. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have needed more than that, but, thanks to that damn Mawher bastard, nothing about these past few days has been normal.

It was her guilt that finally made me decide she needed more, the stubborn insistence that it was all her fault and the fact that she was clearly doing a damn good job of beating herself black and blue inside. She looked up at me with those wide eyes, filled with tears, looking like nothing so much as a scared little girl, and I just reacted, falling into the role of a father in a way I thought I'd forgotten.

She needed me to fix it, not Mawher—he was already caught, but her own emotional turmoil. She screwed up. She knew she screwed up, and she needed someone to hold her accountable and in doing so, give her permission to forgive herself. She didn't need the formal sanctions of her boss. That would have just devastated her more. No, she needed the private, but far more personal, consequences of her family.

I couldn't help but smile at that. Ducky would be amused. Lately, in private, Ducky has taken to referring to my team as my 'kids.' I usually remind him that they're all adults, but at moments like this, late and alone, I have to admit that's a pretty accurate description of how I feel sometimes. Abby's felt like my daughter for years now, and the other three act like bickering siblings most of the time. I glance over at Abby, shuffling in her sleep, and hope I never need to go down this road with the others. McGee would die from sheer panic, and Ziva would likely hand me my balls on a plate for even trying. Even so, I know deep down if I had to I'd do it. They're my family, and I'll do whatever it takes.


End file.
